


Why Brendon prays to Saint Michael even though he is definitely not Catholic

by fiendingforthesunshine



Series: The Disabled Military Veteran AU [4]
Category: Cobra Starship, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon's little brother is probably a saint, Gen, I mean, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Soldiers, War, if we're being serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:39:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendingforthesunshine/pseuds/fiendingforthesunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot in the Disabled Military Veterans AU universe where we learn why Brendon would even know a Catholic prayer in the first place and the story about how Gabe disarmed a bomb without any protective gear.</p><p>*Set 7 years before Stars and Glitter*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Brendon prays to Saint Michael even though he is definitely not Catholic

**Author's Note:**

> I know about 1% about bombs and why bombs do anything that they do. So don't ask me. And don't trust my story telling skills. This was written pretty hastily so it's probably not the best but it's fun anyway. Enjoy!

Brendon stretched out in the chair he’d laid claim to about an hour ago in the recreation room on base. He would only be on base for tonight and Brendon was going to stay sitting in this chair if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Brendon really did enjoy being a Ranger (Not Special Forces, thank you). For the most part they were always in motion; gathering intelligence, securing safe passages for civilians and military vehicles, maybe catching a couple bad guys along the way. The only negative part was Brendon never knew when he would get a chance to sit down and for how long he’d be able to soak that chance up. 

Brendon was especially excited to soak this chance up because their last mission was a complete clusterfuck with a cherry on top. And the cherry on top wasn’t even a good cherry. 

They had been clearing a path through the mountainside to the east of the base. Finding IEDs and pointing them out to the bomb squad, whom could them come in and disarm them. 

Path clearing should be one of the easiest jobs a ranger can do, but nothing is ever simple. 

\--

“Urie, your mom finally had that baby, right?” Novarro shouted over the constant drumming over the Humvee. 

Brendon nodded along with one of the bumps in the road, his head leaned out of the open window, “Yep, about two weeks ago, wanna see a picture?” 

The email to Brendon announcing his little brother’s birth was mostly pictures with very few words. When the Internet had finally been stable enough to load all the pictures Brendon printed out the first one he saw. 

It was the baby, Michael, asleep in a pale yellow blanket in the bassinette next to his mom in the hospital room. Once Brendon got the picture printed he kept it folded tightly in his pocket whenever they went on a mission. 

Novarro nodded, “Yeah, man. Does he still look like an alien? What’s his name?” 

Brendon pulled out the picture and unfolded it before handing it over to Novarro, “His name is Michael… he still looks kind of weird, I think anyway.” 

“Our own Saint Michael, huh?” Saporta called from the front passenger’s seat. Novarro passed the photo up to Saporta for him to see and soon everyone in the Humvee had seen it and it had slowly worked back to Brendon. 

“I think it’s just because my mom likes the name,” Brendon laughed as they pulled to a stop. 

“The drone reported ‘suspicious activity’ about 50 meters ahead,” Suarez, the driver, reported, opening his door and jumping out onto the ground. 

“Of course, but now that he’s been named that he might as well aspire to be a Saint, no?” Saporta offered, slamming his door and straightening out his jacket and pack. 

Gabriel Saporta was a weird dude, even for the military. 

He’d grown up and lived in Uruguay until he was 10 and joined the military right out of high school. His family was the kind of Catholic’s where they always went to church, no matter what day of the week it was or even if they were supposed to be in school. 

Because of that Gabe was almost always talking about Saints and quoting bible verses mixed in with Spanish and English cuss words and maybe a few bottles of vodka when they weren’t on a mission. 

Brendon, being a recovering Mormon, totally gets the religion thing. What he doesn’t get is Gabe’s obsession with everyone having a Saint in relation to their name. But whatever, Brendon isn’t the one charge. 

“We don’t share the same Saints, idiot,” Brendon responded as he walked forwards towards what was very obviously the ‘suspicious activity’ the drone had sent to them. Said activity was a pile of discarded clothes, trash and sticks. 

In the city that wouldn’t be so weird, but in the literal heart of East Jesus Nowhere, it was a concern. 

“Novarro, Suarez, Blackinton guard the Humvee. Urie, let’s go take a look,” Gabe spoke, beginning to cover the 50 or so feet between them and the roadblock. 

“Well, either way. Saint Michael is a good Saint, your brother has a lot to live up to,” Gabe said after they had reached the pile, “Think it’s someone playing games with us or are we about to get blown to kingdom come?” 

Brendon shrugged, “I’m not the bomb specialist on this little expedition, that’s what the bomb squad is here for. If we get blown up I’m totally calling your out to the Saints in the afterlife.”

“Oi, eso duele, amigo,” Gabe muttered as he slowly removed a piece of cloth from a section that looked fairly block-like. 

“Do we have our radios working?” Gabe asked, eyes shifting over to look at Brendon who was circling the small radius of items. 

Brendon shook his head, “No, just the ones back in the truck.”

Gabe looked up and nodded, “Okay. Well this is definitely a bomb and it’s got a timer on it, which is a new thing for us. There’s 5 minutes before it either blows this place out a mile-wide or we disarm it.” 

“Do you want me to tell the guys?” Brendon asked, squatting down to see what Gabe was looking at. The box underneath the cloth he’d removed was about the height and width of a kitchen cabinet. There were a multitude of wires laid out over the top of the open box and the timer was superglued to the left corner. 

“No. Even if we told them there wouldn’t be enough time to get the bomb squad in here,” Gabe responded, pulling out a set of wire clippers from his utility belt hanging of his pack. 

“Can you look around and see if any of these wires run back into the box?” 

Brendon nodded and began at the corner near the timer and found all the wires that ran back into another section of the box and separated them from the wire that ran to nowhere. 

“Okay, you have 3 grey wires, 5 yellow wires and 8 green wires left,” Brendon offered to Gabe. 

“Thanks, 3 and 5 are odd numbers and 8 is an even number I’m going to cut the last green wire,” Gabe mumbled, slicing the wire without a second thought and sucking in a breath. 

The timer on the wall stopped and changed from 00:04:21 to 00:01:15.

“Fucking assholes,” Gabe groaned. 

By this point Novarro, Suarez and Blackinton had realized that something more was happening that a routine check.

“What’s going on over there, soldiers?” One of them, Suarez maybe, called out. 

Brendon looked at Gabe then over towards Suarez, “If you think you can get out of here in less than a minute, I’d start moving, Ranger,” he called back. 

Brendon didn’t pay attention long enough to see what his response was. Gabe was currently looking between the wires and the number pad beside the timer. He was muttering under his breath in something that was similar to Spanish but Brendon couldn’t place hardly any of the words. 

“I see that you’re probably praying or something, but can we please do that afterwards?” Brendon hissed as he began to back up away from the bomb and tried to pull Gabe with him. 

“NO! I think I got it, just give me a second.” 

“That’s about all you’ve got!” 

“Okay… okay,” Gabe whispered, “3, 5 and 8 equals 16 but 3, 5 and 7 is 15. Codes on these are typically 4 numbers but they wouldn’t just casually put in 1615 we’re talking about terrorists here. They’re pretty orderly usually. Okay. 1156.” 

Gabe reverted back to his prayer and pressed in the buttons. 

The timer stopped counting. 

“Thank fuck!” Brendon shouted, dropping down in the sand heavily next to the disarmed bomb. 

Gabe sat back on his knees and sighed, “Gracias Dios.” 

Brendon reached over and clapped Gabe on the shoulder, “You're gonna need to teach me that prayer... Holy shit.” 

Gabe laughed as he gave the all-clear signal to the soldier back at the Humvee, “It was to Saint Michael the Archangel. Meant to be a protector and a soldier. Thought I could borrow your baby brother’s sainthood for a few minutes.” 

Brendon leaned back on his hands and tipped his face towards the sky as the others ran closer, “I’m sure he won’t notice if we borrow it from time to time.”


End file.
